We were schoolfellows
together, and just the same age, that is, nearly--he was born in
April, and I in May. Well, we began at the same time on the same
salary. Now I get sixty dollars a week and he only twelve--and he
is glad to get that, too."
"I suppose he hasn't much business capacity."
"That's where you've struck it, Luke. He knows about enough to be
clerk in a country store--and I suppose he'll fetch up there some
day. You know what that means--selling sugar, and tea, and dried
apples to old ladies, and occasionally measuring off a yard of
calico, or selling a spool of cotton. If I couldn't do better
than that I'd hire out as a farm laborer."
Luke smiled at the enumeration of the duties of a country salesman.
It was clear that Mr. Coleman, though he looked city-bred, must
at some time in the past have lived in the country.
"Perhaps that is the way I should turn out," he said. "I might not
rise any higher than your friend Mr. Bolton."
"Oh, yes, you would. You're smart enough, I'll guarantee. You
might not get on so fast as I have, for it isn't every young man
of twenty-six that can command four thousand dollars a year, but
you would rise to a handsome income, I am sure."
"I should be satisfied with two thousand a year at your age."
"I would be willing to guarantee you that," asserted Mr. Coleman,
confidently. "By the way, where do you propose to put up in
Chicago?"
"I have not decided yet.
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